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I 



THE QUATRAINS OF 
ABU'L-ALA 



Cfje (Euatratns 



of 

Selected from his 
" Lozum-ma-la-Y alzam " and " Sact-Uz-Zind 
and now first rendered into English 



By 

AMEEN F. RIHANI 

Abu ^\ ~ C A V^. ) gJ; 




NEW YORK 
Doubleday, Page & Company 
1903 



Copyright, 1901, bf 
Amccn F. Rihtni 

Pabliihcd, September, igo] t ' ' 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received' 

SEP 21 1903 

^Copyright Entry 
CLASS OL XXc. No 
COPY B/ 



PREFACE 



WHEN all Europe was arming itself for 
the first crusade, when the Northmen 
were ravaging the western world with 
their marauding expeditions, when the Califs 
were engaged in bloody battle with their rebel- 
lious subjects, Abu' 1- Ala was waging his silent 
and bloodless war on the follies and evils of 
his age. He attacked the superstitions and 
the false traditions of religions, and proclaimed 
the supremacy of the mind; he hurled his 
trenchant invectives at the tyranny and despot- 
ism of rulers, and asserted the supremacy of 
the human soul; he stood for perfect equality, 
and fought against the fallacies, the shams 
and the lies of the ruling class of his time, in its 
social, religious and political aspects. 

This man lived in the latter part of the tenth 
and the first half of the eleventh centuries, and 
the European world of knowledge has succeeded 
in ignoring him for the nine centuries that 



Preface 



followed. Nothing is so remarkable as the 
slight mention of him, even by Arabic writers 
and historians. 

Abu'l-Ala'l-Marri, the Lucretius of Al-Islam, 
the Diogenes of Arabia and the Voltaire of the 
East, first saw the light in the spring of the 
year 974 A. D., in the small and obscure village 
of Marrah, near Aleppo. His real name is 
Ahmed ibn Abdallah ibn Soleiman, etc., and 
his surname, Abu'l-Ala, signifying "the father 
of the sublime, " is the fitting appellation which 
his contemporary admirers have spontaneously 
conferred upon him. His real name is only 
known to biography and history, while through- 
out the Arabic-speaking world he is popularly 
known as Abu'l-Ala. 

When a boy, his father taught him the first 
principles of grammar, and thus instilled in his 
mind a love for learning. Subsequently he 
was sent to Aleppo, where, with a private tutor, 
he pursued his studies. His poetical tendencies 
were developed in his boyhood, and his first 
attempts were made when only eleven years of 
age. These early compositions were not, how- 
ever, preserved. * 

vi 



Preface 



When he fell a victim to smallpox and almost 
lost his sight by reason thereof, he had barely 
completed his fifth year. A weakness in his 
eyes continued thereafter to trouble him, and 
he became, in middle age, I presume, totally 
blind. Some of his biographers would have 
us believe that he was born blind; others say 
that he completely lost his sight when he was 
attacked by the virulent disease ; and still others 
intimate that he could see slightly at least with 
one eye. As to whether or not he was blind 
when he went to Aleppo to pursue his studies 
his biographers do not say. My theory, based 
on the careful perusal of his poems and on a 
statement advanced by one of his biographers,* 
is that he lost his sight gradually, and only 
became totally blind either in his youth or his 

*"He was four years of age when attacked with small- 
pox. His right eyeball turned white and his left eye was 
entirely lost. Says Al-Hafez As-Salafi: 'Abu Mohammed 
Abdallah tells me that he visited him (Abu 1-Ala) once, 
with his uncle, and found him sitting on an old hair 
matting. He was very old, and the disease that 
attacked him in his boyhood had left its deep traces on 
his emaciated face. He asked me to come near him, and 
blessed me as he placed his hand on my head. I was a 
boy then, and I can picture him before me now. I look 
into his eyes, and remember well how the one was horribly 
protruding and the other completely buried in its socket 
and cotild not be seen.' "— Ibn-Khollakan's "Lives of 
Eminent Men." 

vii 



Preface 



middle age. Were we to believe that he was 
born blind, or that he completely lost his sight 
in his boyhood, we should be at a loss to know, 
not how he wrote his poems, for he always 
dictated to about ten amanuenses ; not how he 
taught his pupils, for that was done by lectures ; 
but how he was taught and instructed himself, 
in the absence of a regular system of instruction 
for the blind at that time. 

He visited Bagdad, the centre of learning 
and intelligence and the capital of the Abbaside 
Califs, in his twenty-fifth year, and remained 
there about nineteen months, during which 
period he became acquainted with most of the 
learned men of his time. He attended the 
lectures of the leading Sufis and doctors, and 
listened with care and attention to their subtle 
arguments and fustian declamations on re- 
ligion, philosophy and science. 

It is also said in " Al-Muktataf , " volume 10, 
page 450, that he journeyed to Tripoli and 
added much to his store of knowledge from its 
public library; and that, stopping on his way 
back at Lazekeiiah, he lodged in a monastery 
and there met a monk learned in theology and 

viii 



Preface 



metaphysics, who discoursed with him on these 
subjects. From that time he began to doubt 
and to question. 

There are virtually the only data extant show- 
ing the various sources of Abu'l- Ala's knowledge. 
His keen perception, his powerful intellect, his 
prodigious memory, together with a feverish 
desire to learn, render these means and sources 
sufficient for him, though scanty for others 
with less aptitude and aspiration. He was 
especially noted for the extraordinary memory 
he possessed; and around this fact biographers 
and historians weave a thick net of stories, 
which must be relegated to the dark world of 
myths. I have no doubt that one with such 
a prodigious memory could retain in a few 
minutes what the average person cannot; but 
when we are told that Abu' 1- Ala once heard 
one of his pupils speaking with a friend in a 
foreign language, and repeated, then and there, 
the long conversation, word for w r ord, without 
having the faintest idea of its meaning, we are 
disposed to be skeptical. Many like stories are 
recorded and repeated by historians and 
biographers, without as much as intimating a 

ix 



Preface 



doubt in their authenticity. I take it for 
granted that he possessed a prodigious memory, 
but the fact that he was blind answers partly, 
I think, for its abnormal development. 

His career as poet and scholar actually 
dates from the time he returned from Bagdad. 
This, as far as I know, was the last journey he 
ever made, and his home thenceforth became 
his earthly prison. He calls himself "a recluse 
in two prisons, ' ' his solitude being the one and his 
blindness the other. Like most of the scholars 
of his age, in the absence of regular institutions 
of learning, with perhaps one or two exceptions, 
he had to devote a part of his time to the large 
number of pupils that flocked to Marrah from 
all parts of Asia Minor, Arabia and India. 
Rapidly his fame was growing, and his early 
compositions won for him the support of all 
the prominent princes and rulers of his time. 

On every possible and known subject he dic- 
tated to his numerous amanuenses. He is not 
only a poet of the first rank, but an essayist, a 
literary critic and a mathematician as well. 
Everything he wrote, or, rightly speaking, 
dictated, was transcribed by the thousands of 

x 



Preface 



his votaries, as was the fashion then, and thus 
circulated far and near. Nothing, however, 
was preserved but two of his Diwans, and 
a volume of essays, of which I shall yet have 
occasion to speak. 

His reputation as poet and scholar had now 
overlept the horizons, as one historian has it. 
Honours were conferred upon him successively 
by both the rulers and the writers of his age. 
His many noted admirers in the Far and the 
Near East were in constant communication with 
him. He was now considered the master of the 
learned, the chief of the wise, and the sole 
king of the bards of his century. Marrah 
became the Mecca of every literary aspirant; 
ambitious young men came there to be 
instructed, to be informed, to be inspired. 
Abu'l-Ala received them all with open arms and, 
though a pessimist, with a smile ; he imparted to 
them what he knew, and told them frankly what 
he would not teach, since, unlike other scholars, 
he was not able to grasp the truth nor even 
compass one of the smallest mysteries of crea- 
tion. In his latter days, when a venerable old 
man, youthful admirers came to be blessed, 

xi 



Preface 



and, as the childless father of all, but not with 
self -assumed spiritual or temporal authority, 
the poet and sage conferred his blessings. 

His remaining for thirty years a vegetarian 
led some of his enemies and opponents to accuse 
him of renouncing Mohammedanism and em- 
bracing the Brahman religion, one of the 
tenets of which forbade the slaughter of animals. 
The accusation was rather sustained by the 
dispassionate attitude he held toward it, and, 
furthermore, by his vehement denunciation of 
the barbarous practice of killing animals for 
food or for sport. 

Animated by jealousy and spurred by bigotry, 
these enemies, most of whom were Sufis, sought 
to besmirch the character of the blind poet and 
to dim his reputation. He was held up to 
ridicule and opprobrium, and such epithets as 
heretic, atheist, renegade, were freely applied 
to him. It seems, however, that he met them 
all with kindness, charity and unwonted tolera- 
tion. He would not condescend to cross 
swords with one particular individual, but, 
while withstanding their shameful abuses as 
such, he attacked them as a whole, more for 

xii 



Preface 



the false doctrines they were teaching than for 
the virulent vituperations they were hurling 
upon him. I fail to find, in the three volumes 
of his poems, one acrimonious line that savours 
of personality. 

Ibn-Khollekan, the Plutarch of Arabia, to 
whom I am indebted for most of the data 
which I have here utilized, and who is very 
cautious and guarded in his statements, speak- 
ing of Abu' 1- Ala, in his "Lives of Eminent 
Men," truly says: 

"Concluding, we may say that his asceticism, 
his broad sense of right and wrong, his powerful 
intellect, his prodigious memory and his wide 
range of knowledge are alike conceded to by 
both friend and foe. " 

His sulky temperament cannot with justice 
be attributed to anything but natural causes. 
The man was nothing if not genuine and 
sincere. Ruthlessly he said what he thought 
and felt. He had no secrets to hide from any 
one, no thoughts which he did not dare express. 
His soul was as open, but not as mysterious, 
as Nature herself ; his mind was the polished 
mirror of his age. It may be that, had he not 
xiii 



Preface 



been stricken with blindness, and had not 
smallpox disfigured his features, he would have 
found a palliative in society. His pessimism 
might not have been cured, but it would have 
been rendered at least enticing rather than 
stinging. Nor is his strong aversion for mar- 
riage, in view of these facts, surprising. 

He lived to know that ' ' his fame spread from 
the sequestered village which he inhabited to 
the utmost confines of the globe"; he died in 
the year 1058 A. D., completing his eighty-four 
years of age, and was buried in a garden sur- 
rounding his home. Al-Hafez tells us that 
there were present around his grave more than 
one hundred and eighty poets, and that he was 
eulogized by eighty-four speakers, among whom 
were the foremost doctors, scholars and writers 
of his time. Americans and Europeans may 
think this a very large draft on their credulity ; 
but when they bear in mind that almost every 
one who studied Arabic grammar had also to 
study prosody and versification, and thus 
become a poet, or, at least, a rhymster, the 
draft would not appear so large. The Arabs 
were born poets, and the death of a noted 

xiv 



Preface 



person among them is always an occasion for 
much display of exuberant and grandiloquent 
eulogies. 

Abu'l-Ala, besides being a poet of the first 
rank, was also the foremost and profoundest 
thinker of his age, not excepting his learned 
contemporary, Ibn-Sina, known to European 
scholars as Avicenna. Very little is said of his 
teachings, his characteristics, and his many- 
sided and brilliant intellectual career in the 
biographies I have read. The fact that he was 
a liberal thinker, a trenchant writer, a free, 
candid and honest man, answers for this 
neglect on the part of Mohammedan writers, 
who tried to conceal from us what his poems 
unquestionably reveal. 

The larger collection of these poems was 
published in 189 1, in two volumes, by and under 
the supervision of Azeez Bey Zind, of Cairo, 
from an original manuscript written in the 
twelfth century, under Abu'l- Ala's own title, 
" Lozum-ma-la-Yalzam," or "The Necessity of 
What Is Unnecessary." This title refers to the 
special method of rhyming which the poet 
adopted. These poems, consisting of didactic 

xv 



Preface 



odes and quatrains, published in desultory 
fashion, were written, it seems, at different 
periods of his life, and are arranged according 
to the alphabetical system of rhyming, which 
he has chosen to adopt. They bear no 
headings except, ' 'And He Also Says, Rhyming 
With So and So," whatever the rhyming 
may be. These odes and quatrains follow 
strictly each other, not in sequence of thought, 
but, as I said, in the alphabetical order of 
their rhyme-ending. The other small volume 
of heroic and miscellaneous odes is also pub- 
lished in Cairo by Ameen Hindiyeh. These 
three volumes constitute all that is now 
extant of his poems. 

In his preface to " Lozum-ma-la-Yalzam, " 
he says: 

" It happened that during the past years I 
have composed these poems, and in them I have 
abided strictly to the true and the real. They 
are certainly free from lies and exaggerations. 
Some of them are written in glorification of 
God, who is, I know, above all such glory, and 
others are, as it were, a reminder to those who 
forget, a pinch to those who sleep, and a warn- 
xvi 



Preface 



ing to those who fall in love with a world in 
which man is deprived of his rights and Nature 
deprived of the gratitude of man. " 

As for the translation of these chosen qua- 
trains, let me say, at the outset, that it is almost 
impossible to adhere to the letter and convey 
the meaning without being insipid, dull, and 
even ridiculous at times. There being no 
affinity between the Arabic and the English 
languages, their standards of art and beauty 
widely differ, and in the process of transforma- 
tion the outer garment at times must neces- 
sarily be doffed. I have always, however, 
adhered to the spirit and preserved the native 
imagery where it was not too clannish and 
grotesque. I have added nothing that was 
foreign to the ruling idea, nor have I omitted 
anything that was necessary to the completion 
of the general thought. 

As I said before, our philosopher-poet was 
completely ignored by Oriental scholars, and, 
as far as I know, none of his poems, with only 
one exception, are translated to either French, 
German or English. J. D. Carlisle, in his 
''Specimen of Arabic Poetry," published in 
xvii 



Preface 



1810, has given us a paraphrastic translation 
of one of Abu'l- Ala's quatrains on "Pride and 
Virtue. " He also translated into Latin one of 
his bold epigrams, fearing, I suppose, to pub- 
lish it in English at that time. 

The quatrains that are published here are 
culled from the three volumes of his poems; 
and they are arranged, as far as possible, in the 
logical order of their sequence of thought. 
They form a kind of eclogue which the poet and 
scholar delivers from his prison, in Marrah. 

And before closing these remarks, I must here 
record my appreciation of the assistance ren- 
dered me by Lee Fairchild in the final prepara- 
tion of this translation; lastly, I wish to call 
attention to a question which, though unim- 
portant in itself, is nevertheless worthy of the 
consideration of every admirer of Arabic and 
Persian literature. I refer to the similarity 
of thought that exists between Omar Khayyam 
and Abu' 1- Ala. The former, I have reason to 
believe, was an imitator or a disciple of the 
latter. The birth of the first and the death of 
the second poets are not very far apart from 
each other ; they both occurred about the middle 
xviii , 



Preface 



of the eleventh century. The English-reading 
public, here and abroad, has already formed its 
opinion of Khayyam, and let it not, therefore, 
be supposed that in making this claim I aim to 
shake or undermine its great faith. Nor am I 
so presumptuous as to think that one could 
succeed in such a hazardous undertaking. My 
desire is to confirm and not to convulse, to 
expand and not to contract the Oriental 
influence on Occidental minds. 

Whoever will take the trouble, however, to 
read Omar Khayyam in conjunction with what 
is here translated of Abu' 1- Ala, cannot fail, if 
he discern rightly, to see that the skepticism 
and pessimism of Omar are, to a great extent, 
imported from Marrah. In his religious 
opinions the Arabian philosopher is far more 
outspoken than the Persian poet. I do not 
say that Omar was a plagiarist, but I say this: 
Just as Voltaire, for instance, acquired most of 
his liberal and skeptical views from Hobbes, 
Locke and Bayle, so did Omar acquire his from 
Abu '1- Ala. In my notes to these quatrains I 
have quoted, in comparison, from both the 
Fitzgerald and the Heron-Allen versions of the 
xix 



Preface 

Persian poet, and with so much or so little said, 
I leave the matter in charge of the reader, who, 
on a careful examination, will doubtless bear 
me out on this point. 

Ameen F. Rihani. 



xx 



THE QUATRAINS OF ABU'L-ALA 



I 

TOEHOLD the Night, lest vauntingly we say, 
"He fell a-bleeding, 'neath the sword 
of Day," 

Again recharges with his starry host, 
While all the fiery Suns in ambush lay. 



3 



II 

O, Night, to me thou art as bright, as fan- 
As Dawn or Twilight, with their golden hair ; 
How oft, when young, we lurked beneath 
thy wing, 

And Jupiter, with bated breath, would stare ! 



4 



Ill 



Our eyes, all heedless of sweet Sleep's behest: 
Scanned in God's book of Stars the sonnet best, 
The Pleiads — ah, the Moon from them 
departs ; 

She throws a kiss and hastens toward the west. 



5 



IV 



But soon my Night, this winsome Ethiop Queen, 
Who passes by be- jewelled, calm, serene, 

Will wax old and with Saffron deeply dye 
Her tresses, lest the ash of age be seen. 



6 



V 



Our Nights and Days around each other spin, 
And we like Planets end as we begin ; 

Our feet are on the heads of those that 
passed, 

And as the Cradle cries, the Graves all grin. 



7 



VI 



This Life-span will between two Shores e'er 
swing ; 

We cross it, and who knows what's on the wing ? 

I never could, tho' long upon the bridge, 
Like billows moan, ah me, nor wind-like sing. 



8 



VII 



Our Joys and Griefs, each other oft revile; 
They come and go, enduring but awhile; 

The Clouds, that shed their tears on land 
and sea, 

Have Lightning-lips, whose laugh the tears 
beguile. 



9 



VIII 



What boots it, in my creed, that Man should 
moan 

In Sorrow's Night, or sing in Pleasure's Dawn ? 

In vain the doves all coo on yonder branch- 
In vain one sings or sobs: behold ! he's gone. 



10 



IX 



So solemnly the Funeral passes by ! 

The march of Triumph, under this same sky, 

Comes in its trail — both vanish into Night : 
To me are one, the Sob, the Joyous Cry. 



ii 



X 



Behold, 0, friend, our tombs engulf the land, 
Our fathers' corses moulder in the sand ; 

From Aad's time where and how many 
are the graves? 
Has not this sea of Death a cliff, a strand ? 



12 



XI 



Thus they have passed, and we shall follow soon 
Into an endless Midnight or a Noon ; 

The Stars, that likewise oft shoot from 
their spheres, 
Fall in the arms of wooing Sim or Moon. 



13 



XII 



Tread lightly, for a thousand hearts unseen 
Might now be beating in this misty green ; 

Here are the herbs that once were pretty 
cheeks, 

Here the remains of those that once have been. 



14 



XIII 



Many a Grave embraces friend and foe, 
And grins in scorn at this most sorry show; 

A multitude of corses therein pressed — 
Alas ! Time almost reaps e'er he doth sow ! 



i5 



XIV 



The warp and woof of Life are woe and gloom ; 
The Cup is bitter; endless pain the doom: 

Strange then that he should weave, that 

he should drink, 
Who knows well how to smash both Cup and 

Loom ! 



16 



XV 



The Days devour us all ; none will they spare, 
And fang'd hours, Lion-like, upon us stare ; 

Anon they bound, and twixt their teeth 
we groan, 
Anon return to their eternal Lair ! 



i7 



XVI 



We're only moved from this all battered Tent 
To some abode of peace, by accident ; 

A night of deep sleep and repose is Death, 
While in Life's day this Sleep by Care is rent. 



18 



XVII 



Every abode to Ruin is addrest, 
Be it a palace or a sparrow's nest ; 

Let not the mighty build, for they must go, 
Like that fair dove, with what they built, to rest. 



19 



XVIII 



Why drinkest from the fountain of Belief ? 
Why seekest at the Saki's door relief? 

A lie imbibed, a thousand lies will breed, 
And in the end thyself will come to grief. 



SO 



XIX 



A-fearing whom I trust I gain my end, 
But trusting, without fear, I lose, my friend; 
Much better is the Doubt that gives me 
peace, 

Than all the Faiths which in hell-fire may end. 



21 



XX 



Upon Hypocrisy and Cant we speed, 
Our hobbies all are of a sickly breed ; 

Doubt then in all things, doubt the very 
age, 

Doubt that he is good who does a good deed. 



XXI 



Ye weeping daughters of Hadeel, I pray, 
A word of comfort to a Doubter say; 

Would I were thee, and thou wert me to 
fool 

This restless, aye, and dream-like life away. 



23 



XXII 



I sometimes think myself here to complete 
A problem sad, with X's all replete ; 

Despite myself I bridled am by Fate, 
And at the bottom, ah, there's nothing meet. 



24 



XXIII 



How oft around the Well my Soul would grope 
Athirst ; but lo ! my Pail was without Rope : 

I cried for Water, and the deep, dark Well 
Echoed my wailing cry, but not my hope. 



25 



XXIV 



The I, in me, combats oft with this Soul, 
Who scorns the Pail, and fain would seek the 
Whole; 

But how to rise once fallen in the Depth, 
And how protect the Branches from the Bole ? 



26 



XXV 



" How long," she says, "will I this burden bear — 
How long this tattered garment will I wear?" 
Why doff it not, why throw not down the 
load, 

And thus unburdened the Hyperion dare? 



27 



XXVI 



If Consciousness in after-life prevail, 
I will the Secrets all with it unveil; 

But if, like flesh, alas ! it melt away, 
My sighs and yearnings all will not avail. 



28 



XXVII 



The door of Certainty we can't unlock, 
But we can knock and guess and guess and 
knock : 

Night quickly carries us upon its Sail, 
Ship-like, but where, O Night-ship, is thy dock? 



29 



XXVIII 



O Death's Typhoon, in thy e'er whirling storm, 
Thou sparest neither man, nor beast, nor worm ; 

Behind thy hell, is there a Will divine, 
That would remould us into better form? 



3° 



XXIX 



How like so many coins in Fate's big hand 
We are, and Fate will always lavish and 

Alas ! the good Coin is so quickly spent, 
While all the bad Coins linger in the land. 



3i 



XXX 



Ye sons of men, pray take it not to heart 
If I do thee arraign, as all or part ; 

Since freely with myself I will begin, 
And lo ! my truth is bold and void of art. 



32 



XXXI 



Among us some are great and some are small, 
Albeit in wickedness, we're masters all; 

w 

Or, if my fellow men are like myself, 
The human race shall always rise and fall. 



33 



XXXII 

The air of sin I breathe without restraint; 
With selfishness my few good deeds I taint ; 

I come as I was moulded and I go, 
But near the vacant shrine of Truth I faint. 



34 



XXXIII 



I laugh and lo ! my shafts of scorn doth leap 
On Adam's sons, who all by right should weep ; 
Doubt crushes us like glass, and even the 
hope 

Of restoration lost is in the heap. 



35 



XXXIV 



Like all of us, I, too, do lie and cheat, 
And hope to mend, before my death I meet; 
But Time cries out," Make haste and purge 
thy soul, 

To-morrow's dawn thou mayst not live to greet." 



36 



XXXV 



Life's mystic curtain, held by Destiny, 
Its darkest shadow now casts over me; 

It rises — and behold, I act my part; 
It falls — and who knows what and where I'll be ? 



37 



XXXVI 



My Soul, I often most sincerely warn, 

But all my warnings she receives with scorn ; 

My sins are sands upon the shore of Life, 
Alack ! the Day when Death will blow his horn ! 



38 



XXXVII 



O friend, those foul and sorry deeds of mine, 
This soul, tho' deep and broad, incarnadine; 

If they were written on the face of Dawn, 
The Sun himself would stop, recede and pine. 



39 



XXXVIII 



But from necessity, without intent 
I sin; wherefore a future punishment? 

"The harmless piece of steel becomes a 
sword, 

With God's foreknowledge," say they, "and 
consent. " 



40 



XXXIX 



How oft, when young, my friends I would 
defame, 

If our religious faiths were not the same ; 

But now my Soul has travelled high and 
low — 

Now all save Love, to me, is but a name : 



4i 



XL 

A church, a temple, or a Kaba Stone, 
Koran or Bible or a martyr's bone — 
All these and more my heart can 
Since my religion now is Love alone. 



42 



XLI 



To all humanity, O consecrate 
Thy heart, and shun the thousand Sects that 
prate 

About the things they little know about — 
Let all receive thy pity, love, or hate. 



43 



XLII 



The sheik who, in his mosque the bigot cows, 
Is much like unto him who doth carouse: 

The one is drunk with pride and mad 
conceit, 

The other bravely breaks his foolish vows. 



44 



XLIII 

"The grape juice is forbidden," say these folk, 
But they the law will for themselves revoke ; 

The sheik tells thee he is without a garb, 
When in the tap-house he has pawned his cloak. 



45 



XLIV 



Their mosques and brothels are to me the same, 
Their prayers are blasphemies on Allah's name; 

If pulpits will revolt not, when the sheiks 
Pose in them as our teachers, who's to blame ? 



4 6 



XLV 



Every Friday, from these pulpits spring 
A thousand lies, to calm a monstrous king ; 

They ask that God preserve his life, and he 
Carouses while young damsels round him sing. 



47 



XLVI 



But Destiny, my friends, will always plot; 
Change then is constant — wealth and power not ; 

And he who drinks to-day in a golden bowl 
May drink to-morrow in a wooden pot. 



48 



XLVII 



If prayers produce among us this rich crop 
Of vice, abandon prayers and wed the cup; 

Drink, whilst thou art of this Mortality, 
When dead thou mayst not ever taste a drop. 



49 



XLVIII 



Awake, awake, thou pious dupes, awake ! 
And see how all the creeds and cults do shake : 
These are the jades the wily ancients rode 
Upon the track of Life, to win their stake. 



5o 



XLIX 



Their sons cry out and clamour, vaunt and 
swell, 

Seeking the ocean, with their shrieks to quell; 
The thunder hath some charm, but does 
not rain 

Without quench the thirst of earth as well? 



5i 



Their vices 'neath the veil of Faith they hide, 
And thus parade them, with unbridled pride; 

Our reason we abuse, when we believe 
Their Lies, and Reason is the only guide. 



52 



LI 



"What is thy faith?" these creeping cuckolds 
cry; 

Others into my pedigree would pry: 

I'm one of Allah's sons, the world my tent, 
The human race my tribe, until I die. 



53 



MI 

The voiceless, countless Army of our Time 
Invades the darkest and the brightest clime — 

The human soul, under its burning feet 
Still groans, and Time, alas ! is in his prime. 



54 



LIII 



Howbeit these sages say, "The end is here," 
That death will take the worlds, afar and near; 

They lie about the universe, and — well, 
Heed not their threats, and yield thou not to 
fear. 



55 



LIV 



These good astrologers are blind, indeed; 
The page of Fate, by touch, they try to read ; 

In vain they strive the letters to construct, 
Which only in confusing they succeed. 



56 



LV 



Another prophet will, they say, soon rise; 
But will he profit by his tricks, likewise? 

My prophet is my reason, aye, myself — 
From me to me there is no room for lies. 



57 



LVI 



How many preachers from the pulpits preach, 
How many prophets rose from sleep to teach? 
They prayed, and slayed, and passed away, 
and yet 

Our ills are like the pebbles on the beach ! 



58 



LVII 

These Superstitions, Sacred Books and Creeds, 
These Cults and Myths and other noxious 
Weeds — 

So many Lies are crowned, in every age, 
While Truth beneath the tyrant's heel still 
bleeds. 



59 



LVIII 



Aye, Wrong forever is proclaimed aloud, 
And strongly yoked upon a boundless crowd; 

But Truth is only whispered to the few, 
Who bury it alive without a shroud. 



60 



LIX 



When all are silent, thou wilt have to say, 
But silent be thyself the while they bray; 
Sound Wisdom warns thee — "if thou wilt 
be right, 

Then differ from them all, and go thy way. " 



61 



LX 



Seek not their guidance ! Hush, and walk 

alone, 

Among us Reason can not hold her own; 

The Pearl that comes to human hands 
will break, 
But in the Deep 'tis safe upon her throne. 



62 



LXI 

What ! shun the Sun that guides thy battered 
Bark, 

And seek the flash of Lightning in the Dark ? 
Cannot thy sins withstand his searching 
light? 

Can not thy Soul on Heaven's wing embark? 



63 



LXII 



Throughout the East and West reign fell 
discords 

About the Creeds, among the Chiefs and Lords ; 

If Creeds, however, differ in their text, 
They all concur in being spurious frauds ! 



64 



LXIII 



The Time is Allah's, and this noise and din 
About the Sabbaths all is worse than sin; 

What profits it, what glory can there be, 
If Friday should retreat and Sunday win? 



65 



LXIV 



Throughout the Ages we have cringed and crept 
And 'neath the feet of Masters few have slept; 

0, have they, friend, to lift us ever stoopt — 
Have they with Rabbik promise ever kept? 



66 



LXV 



Oppression waits, and waiting he prepares 
For vengeance 'gainst his former Lords and 
heirs ; 

He serves their tyranny awhile and lo ! 
He drags them soon or late into their snares ! 



67 



LXVI 



The Laws among us fell discord create ; 
They teach us how to plot, and steal, and hate ; 
Why worship then their makers? why 
obey 

The Judges who on Mammon ever wait? 



68 



LXVII 



I'm weary of my stay in this broad land, 
Where princes rob and slay by God's command ; 
Long have they ruled us, we the Masters 
true, 

When shall we, 0, when shall we wield the wand ? 



69 



LXVIII 



Virtue and Pride cannot each other greet; 
As Youth and Age themselves can never meet ; 
When this one grows the other shrinks, 
and when 

The Night is long the Day is not complete. 



70 



LXIX 



If thou to wealth and power be allied, 
Fang'd Cares upon thy soul will naked ride; 

But be thou languid, poor and ignorant, 
And Happiness will be thy loving bride. 



7i 



LXX 



Or wed thyself to Reason and behold 

The Snakes of persecution (young and old, 

Around thee hissing, poisoning the well 
Of Life's Devotion true) their net unfold. 



72 



LXXI 



O, pitch my tent upon the desert sand, 
Far from the fawner and the carper's land. 

Some think me pious, rich and learned, too, 
But they between all these and me e'er stand. 



73 



LXXII 



My ignorance of things I do confess, 
My Nothingness to Something I address; 
Howbeit, there are those who think 
wise, 

And those who — ah, but even these I bless. 



74 



LXXIII 



If there be one who in this world succeeds, 
I bear with him, to brag about his deeds ; 

But when he feigns to be my loving friend, 
I break upon his back an hundred reeds ! 



75 



LXXIV 



My months, as dull and vapid as my lay, 
Are repetitions of one gloomy day ; 

My heart has learned to scoff at them, and 
now 

December fear I not, nor fondle May. 



7 6 



LXXV 



The ways and means of Destiny I've known — 
In me her sorry Scheme is deeply sown; 

All her misfortunes I receive in cash, 
But Joy she pays in drafts on Heaven drawn. 



77 



LXXVI 

So oft the Fates with ill-luck did assail 
This Soul, that now they strike without avail — 
A thousand spears all shield my bleeding 
heart, 

And steel now breaks on steel — the blow will 
fail. 



78 



LXXVII 



This Life is in itself a foul disease, 
Which Galen could not cure, nor Bocrates; 
These were themselves in its unyielding 
grip, 

And only Death would hear their fervent pleas. 



79 



LXXVIII 



A Soul that had not entered yet a pot 
Longed, from her height, to throw with ours 
her lot; 

She sent a harbinger to sound the Depth; 
The harbinger below cried out: "Do not !" 



80 



LXXIX 

O, when will Fate come forth with his decree, 
That I may clasp the cool clay and be free ? 

My Soul and Body, wedded for awhile, 
Are sick and would that separation be. 



81 



LXXX 



Do yonder birds, that labour with such zest, 
Know, like ourselves, that there can be no rest ? 
Were they but conscious of the world's 
design, 

They would not build their young that cozy nest. 



82 



LXXXI 



Hunt not the beast; O, be thou more humane, 
Since hunter here nor hunted long remain; 

The smallest grub a life has in it which 
Thou canst not take without inflicting pain. 



83 



LXXXII 

The few among us are the Sparks that prance 
Upon the top within the Cup of Chance ; 

They quickly rise and quickly disappear, 
And when you shake the Cup again they dance. 



8 4 



LXXXIII 



Why weedest thou the garden of the Soul, 
If on the Wheel of Life thou wouldst yet roll? 
Tis true, most noxious are some plants 
therein ; 

But pluck them, if thou wilt impair the whole. 



LXXXIV 



Behold, the veil that hid thy Soul is torn, 
And all thy secrets on the winds are borne; 

The hand of Sin has written on thy face — 
"Awake, for these untimely furrows warn I" 



86 



LXXXV 



Why wonder if the Raven pass away 

To make place for the Falcon's brighter day? 

For shame ! I see the mirror in thy hand — 
The tweezers, too — wilt thou defeat his play ? 



87 



LXXXVI 



Hast thou not read the Manuscript of Time, 
All dotted by Misfortune and by Crime ? 

Hast thou not pondered on it — hast thou 
not 

Rejoiced and gloried in its tone sublime? 



88 



LXXXVII 



Then get thee hence, for thou art like the tomb, 
Which takes from us, to rot and to consume, 
The dearest that we cherish and the best, 
And pays us nothing back — ah, me ! the doom. 



80 



LXXXVIII 



O, shake my dust from off thy feet and doff 
Thy cloak of Love, Devotion and like stuff — 
I'm but a gust of wind on desert sand — 
Enough of thy duplicity, enough ! 



90 



LXXXIX 



Canst not thou to the thousand sullied Beads 
Upon thy String add one pearl of good Deeds ? 

The marvels of Creation all reveal 
That which I doubt not, tho' I doubt the Creeds. 



9* 



xc 



Heed thou my counsel, by it well abide — 
A traveller gone astray will hear his guide; 

Howbeit, disciples might defeat my hope, 
If freely on Illusion's wing they ride. 



92 



XCI 



Thy wealth can shed no tears around thy bier, 
Nor can it rob thee of thy woe or fear ; 

Ere thou departest, with it freely part — 
Let poor folk plead for thee and He will hear. 



93 



XCII 



For me thy silks and feathers have no charm, 
The pillow I like best is my right arm ; 

The comforts of your Passing Show I spurn 
In travelling, and I heed not your alarm. 



94 



XCIII 

The blind man's staff is faithful, sound and true, 
Unlike the friends and guides who round him 
drew : — 

Come, then, thou dumb and silent piece of 
oak, 

No son of Eve shall walk with me and you. 



95 



XCIV 



The luxuries of kings I envy not, 

When a truffle and some beans fall to my lot; 

I drink rejoicing with my naked hands — 
I sigh not for the Saki and his pot. 



9 6 



xcv 



Nay, in a wry, old earthen bowl I drink, 
Tho' in a sea of pearls and gold I sink ; 

The wooden shoes I do like best because 
That skin did once live, aye, and even think. 



97 



XCVI 



Withal, my shoes and clothes do heavily weigh 
On me, and Freedom has no right of way ; 

I care not for them, when I think I have 
To don and doff them every night and day. 



98 



XCVII 

O, fie upon thee, Mother Earth ! O, fie ! 
In all thy games we cheat, and lose and lie ; 
Divorced thou would' st be if thou wert a 
wife, 

But no true son his Mother will decry. 
LofC. 



99 



XCVIII 



No, in the Khodour I have never been, 
Nor e'en the Black Stone have I kissed or seen — 
Cold death alone lurks in the Serpents' den- 
And the Kabas all my Soul can never clean. 



IOO 



XCIX 



I wish to stand, like Adam, at one end 

Of this long line, which I shall not extend ; 

Tho' Omar yawns as Khalid does, I can 
Not be infected by the Yawn, my friend. 



ioi 



This pleasure, born of pain and misery, 
No wretched Soul inherit shall from me ; 

I dig not, like the Lizard, for her cubs, 
Nor bird-like toil and moil for chicks to be. 



102 



CI 



My Goal's the grave, my Hours are my good 
steed ; 

My Life the road on which I blindly speed ; 

A little while and then the One unseen 
Strikes, and behold ! I'm but a sapless weed. 



103 



CII 



He who the learned puzzled all the way, 
The sages keeping constantly at play — 

To them a secret hidden — is to me 
Only an animal evolved of Clay. 



T04 



cm 

A reeling Branch would not hold high his head, 
If he were laden with some fruits instead 

Of withered leaves. ' ' But why bear fruits, ' ' 
he says, 

"If bending 'neath my load I'm stoned and 
bled?" 



IOf? 



CIV 



O, Rabby, shame us not, if we are all 
The products of a monstrous Sin, a Fall ; 

How then will Milk and Honey ever flow, 
If the eternal Source is bitter Gall ? 



106 



cv 



Why contemplate, why analyze and test, 

If Man then is the same from East to West? 

His word is perfidy, his love a lie, 
His good is evil and his health a pest. 



CVI 



His smile, a makeshift ; what he knows, a curse ; 
His riches, blighting poverty and worse; 

His wisdom, folly, and his faith a sham — 
Why ponder, why dissect, in prose or verse ? 



1 08 



CVII 



If miracles were wrought in bygone years, 
Why not to-day, why not to-day, 0, seers? 
This Leprous Age, aye, needs a healing 
hand, 

Why heed not then his cries and dry his tears ? 



109 



CVIII 



Fan thou the fire and then behold the light i 
Fan thou but ashes and bemoan thy sight : 

Call thou the living and they will respond, 
But whom thou callest are as dead as Night. 



I TO 



CIX 



The path of Wrong is broader than the sky, 
The path of Right is like the needle's eye; 

The Soul, unless she's whipp'd, will travel 
not 

Through it, her "Wherefor?" ceasing, "Whence 
and Why?" 



in 



cx 



" How oft, Soul?" I said in my despair, 
"This Garment is too good for thee to wear," 
And thou wouldst answer : "I had not my 
choice, 

So free me from these chains of Whence and 
Where." 



CXI 



Whence come, O, firmament, those myriad 
lights, 

Whence comes thy juice, O, vine on yonder 
heights ? 

Whence comes the perfume of the rose, and 
whence 

The Soul that with this flesh forever fights ? 



CXII 



Whence does the nettle get its bitter sting? 
Whence do the honey-bees their honey bring? 

A thousand questions thou wilt ask in vain, 
I know not, I repeat, one single thing. 



CXIII 

How many, like us, in the ages past 

Have blindly soared, tho' like a pebble cast, 

Seeking the veil of Mystery to tear, 
But fell accursed 'neath the burning blast? 



ii5 



CXIV 



"A hell," some shriek; its fire tho' I do know 
Is set by evil Deeds, that in it blow ; 

Our hells we make and unmake as we live — 
The flames that smoke and burn will warm and 
glow. 



cxv 

How like a Door the knowledge we would gain, 
Which Door is on the bourne of the Inane ; 

It opens and our Nothingness is closed; 
It closes and in Darkness we remain. 



117 



CXVI 



Why delve then in the sod, or search the sky 
For Truths, alas ! which neither you nor I 
Can grasp, since Death alone the Secret 
keeps 

And will impart it to us by and by ? 



118 



CXVII 

How many Sultans 'cended from a throne, 
To journey through the dust, to that Unknown ? 
They went forth naked and behind them 
left 

A kingdom desolate, in panic thrown. 



119 



CXVIII 



But even Sultans will to Clay return 
And, chancing, serve us as a coffee urn; 

Perchance remoulded to a pot and then 
Drinks from it whoso wishes in his turn : 



120 



CXIX 



It may be carried from its native land, 
Where on its throne it once did wield the wand ; 

Alas ! the Sultan never thought that he 
Would dwell with tipplers on the beach's sand. 



121 



cxx 



Is it ordained that this Adamic race 

Be even in Death in Sorrow's strong embrace ? 

Felicitate the kindred of the dead— 
Theirs is the legacy and his the grace. 



122 



CXXI 



Thou art the creature of thy Present Age, \ / 
Thy Past is an obliterated Page ; 

The rest that follows may not see thee more, 
Make best of what is worst and do not rage. 



123 



CXXII 



Aye, kiss the dimpled cheeks of New-born Day 
And hail Eternity in every ray, 

That forms a halo round its infant head, 
And lights up with its fiery Eye the way. 



124 



CXXIII 

Enchained in blindness of both Faith and Sight, 
I two long nights make of my darkest Night; 

Once Ummu-lila luring I espoused, 
But even she my darkness could not light. 



125 



CXXIV 



This eye, as Life endures, the heir will be 
To sleeplessness, this Soul, to jealousy; 

This body, heir to illness, but this heart, 
Heir to that hope that may yet set us free. 



126 



cxxv 

And now these Daughters of my heart and mind, 
I shield and keep secluded from mankind; 

They seek no son of man to win his heart, 
Nor will they even wed a world unkind. 



127 



CXXVI 



Farewell, my day ! Thy like will never dawn 
Upon this sightless face, once thou art gone — 

I'm always falling and will only rise 
When I descend into the grave forlorn. 

INTAHA. 



128 



NOTES 



I 

"Lile" and "Lilat, " two words for night, 
are respectively masculine and feminine 
nouns. The first is used in a general sense, and 
the second, which is used with a definite article, 
is commonly accepted as a specific term. 

II 

This was doubtless written in his latter days 
when he was completely blind. It is invariably 
the custom among Arabic poets to preface their 
poems, regardless of the subject-matter, with a 
few amatory lines. Abu'l-Ala, having had no 
occasion to evince such tender emotions, suc- 
ceeded, as in everything else he did, in deviating 
from the trodden path. I find, however, in 
his minor Diwan, called " Sact-uz-Zind, " a 
slight manifestation of his youthful days, which, 
of course, is the only exception to the foregoing 
129 



Quatrains 



statement. These are the few quatrains with 
which I choose to open this eclogue. 

IV 

In the first quatrain the poet speaks of night 
in a general sense, and therefore uses the 
masculine noun. He here compares his one 
Night to an Ethiop queen, using the feminine 
noun instead. When I first read these lines in 
the original, I thought the figure was rather 
grotesque, and hesitated about introducing it 
into the poem. I see, however, that Milton, 
in his "II Penseroso, " speaks of the "starred 
Ethiop queen," and Romeo, speaking of Juliet, 
says: "Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of 
night as a rich jewel in an Ethiop ear." The 
simile of Shakespeare and the metaphor of 
Abu'l-Ala are not exactly alike, but the same 
ruling thought is nevertheless conspicuous 
in both. 

VIII 

The same thought is expressed less strikingly 
by Omar Khayyam. Here are the first three 

130 



Quatrains 



lines of the 122nd quatrain of the Heron-Allen's 
literal translation: 

" To him who understands the mysteries of the 
world, 

The joy and sorrow of the world is all the 
same, 

Since the good and the bad of the world all 
come to an end. " 

X 

"Aad, " the name of a tribe that flourished 
in Arabia in ancient Pagan times, many cen- 
turies before Christ. 

XII 

I quote again from Omar's for the purpose 
of showing the similarity of thought that exists 
between the two poets. Following is the 
twentieth quatrain of Fitzgerald's version, 
fourth edition: 

"And this reviving Herb, whose Tender Green 
Fledges the River-Lip, on which we lean — 

Ah, lean upon it lightly ! for who knows 
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen." 
*3* 



Quatrains 



In justice to both poets, however, this quatrain 
and the literal translation of it should appear 
side by side. Here, then, is the forty-third 
quatrain of Heron- Allen's translation, which I 
think contains two lines of that of Fitzgerald : 

"Everywhere that there has been a rose or 
tulip bed 

There has been spilled the crimson blood of a 
king; 

Every violet shoot that grows from the earth 
Is a mole that was once upon the cheek of a 
beauty. " 

XX 

It was Tennyson who wrote: 

" There is more truth in honest doubt, 
Believe me, than in all the creeds." 

XXI 

" Benat'ul-Hadeel, " daughters of Hadeel, is 
a poetic term for doves. Hadeel is also the 
name of a particular dove that died of thirst 

132 



Quatrains 



in the days of Noah, and all the members of his 
family, as mythology has it, still weep for him 
till this day. 

XXIII 

He longs for certainty, he thirsts for knowl- 
edge, but he knows that the intellectual facul- 
ties of man can not reach the depth or the 
height of the beyond. There is the feverish 
desire to know, but not the means. There is 
the Pail, but not the Rope. How appropriate 
and powerful the figure ! How cogent the 
argument ! How true the idea ! 

XXIV 

He here compares the Soul to the Bole of a 
tree, and the mind, conscience and will to the 
branches that spring from it. If, then, he 
hearken to the voice of his soul, and commit 
suicide, will he not annihilate the mind and 
conscience or conscientious self as well? Let 
the reader compare this and the succeeding 
quatrain with the famous soliloquy of Hamlet, 
and the similarity in the trend of thought will 
133 



Quatrains 



be apparent. • I do not, however, claim as much 
depth for the Arabic poet, who prefers drowning 
to the bare bodkin. 

XXV 

I quote again from Omar, Fitzgerald's version 
quatrain 44: 

"Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside, 
And naked on the air of Heaven ride, 

Were't not a shame — were't not a shame 
* for him 

In this clay carcass, crippled to abide?" 
And from Heron-Allen's quatrain 145: 

"O Soul, if thou canst purify thyself from the 

dust of the clay, 
Thou, naked spirit, canst soar in the heav'ns, 
The Empyrian is thy sphere — let it be thy shame 
That thou comest and art a dweller within the 

confines of earth." 

Throughout the poem I use the feminine pro- 
noun for "An-Nafs, " soul, my reason being 

i34 



Quatrains 



that the Arabic noun is of the feminine gender 
and rightly so, since femininitv is more becom- 
ing of the soul. 

XXVI 

The human soul and the human conscience 
are not to him convertible terms, although this 
idea of oneness was expounded by many of the 
scholars of his time. 

XXXIII 

This led some of his enemies to accuse him 
of pure materialism, which accusation, however, 
can easily be repelled by the citation of many 
other poems, taken at random from his Diwan. 

XXXIV 

Omar was also a confessed cynical-hypocrite. 
Thus runs the first line of the 114th quatrain 
of Heron- Allen's: 

"The world being fleeting, I practise naught 
but artifice." 

i35 



Quatrains 



And he also chafes in the chains of his sins. 
Following is the twenty-third quatrain of the 
same translation: 

"Khayyam, why mourn for thy sins? 

From grieving thus what advantage more or 

less dost thou gain? 
Mercy was never for him who sins not, 
Mercy is granted for sins : why then grieve ? ' ' 

I remember that Abu '1- Ala asks in one of his 
poems which I have not translated, "Why do 
good, since you are to be forgiven for thy sins ? " 

XL 

" Kaba Stone," the black stone in the Kaba 
at Mecca, which the Mohammedans regard as 
sacred. 

LIII 

He refers here to the Millenium which the 
Christians in the latter part of the tenth 
century anticipated. Students of history will 
observe how the delusion fastened itself on the 

136 



Quatrains 



mind of Christian Europe, and how, in conse- 
quence of the same, every branch of industry, 
commerce and art was brought to a standstill. 
Arabia, it seems, was infected by the disease, 
and Abu'l-Ala could not but prescribe a remedy. 

LVIII 

The state of things has almost remained the 
same from the time of Abu'l-Ala down to the 
days when the American poet exclaimed: 
" Truth forever on the scaffold, wrong forever 
on the throne. " 

LXIII 

He refers to the quarrels and contentions of 
the Jews, the Mohammedans and the Christians, 
concerning the Sabbath day, Friday being that 
of the Mohammedans. 

LXIV 

"Rabbik," thy God. 

137 



Quatrains 



LXVIII 

This is the quatrain a paraphrastic transla- 
tion of which appears in Carlisle's Specimen of 
Arabic Poetry. 

LXXV 

How often does Omar repeat the idea of Cash 
and Credit in the Heron-Allen version. It 
seems to me that this is a sister idea to the 
"drink and make merry" one. Abu'l-Ala, 
however, though a plain and unornamented 
pessimist, has harped on this same string before 
him. The idea of Cash and Credit, clothed 
in various garbs and representing divers condi- 
tions and situations, is profusely scattered 
throughout the Diwan. 

LXXVI 

Many other Arabic poets lament the fre- 
quency of calamities, the fickleness of fortune 
and the obduracy of Fate and recommend 
resignation, fortitude, courage and temperance 
as assuaging remedies. 

138 



Quatrains 



LXXVII 

Galen, the famous Greek physician who lived 
in the second century. 

Bocrates, the Arabic for Hippocrates, the 
" Father of Medicine," who lived in the fifth 
century, B. C. 

LXXXI 

Shakespeare, in "Measure for Measure," 
evinces like sympathy by expressing a similar 
idea. Isabella, speaking to her brother, says: 

"And the poor beatle, that we tread upon, 
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great 
As when a giant dies. " 

LXXXV 

He likens Youth to the Raven, whose feathers 
are black, and Age to the Falcon, with his rich 
white plumage. The idea of the darkness of 
folly in Youth and the light of wisdom in 
Age is beautifully and delicately suggested. 
Baha-ud-Deen-Zoheir, whose poems are trans- 
139 



Quatrains 



lated into English by E. H. Palmer, expresses 
this same idea with more vividness and lucidity. 
I cannot resist the temptation of quoting it 
here: 

"Now the night of youth is over and the gray 

head dawn is near, 
Fare ye well ye tender meetings, with the friends 

I held so dear ; 
O'er -my life these silvery locks are shedding an 

unwonted light, 
And disclosing many follies youth has hidden 

out of sight. " 

Of course Zoheir expands and Abu' l- Ala only 
suggests. 

XCVIII 

"Khodour, " a plural noun signifying bou- 
doirs : the apartment of the harem. 

This and the two succeeding quatrains I have 
chosen from numerous poems he composed on 
this topic. His antipathy for marriage was 
not less vehement than his hatred for all that 

140 



Quatrains 



was false in the teachings of monks, sheiks 
and rabbis. This is a literal translation of 
the epitaph he wrote for himself: 

" My father thus did wrong me, 
And I have no one wronged." 

XCIX 

Omar and Khalid, two popular masculine 
names in Arabia corresponding to the American 
Jones and Smith. The next quatrain eluci- 
dates the meaning of this one. 

CII 

The pronoun here reverts to man. Con- 
temporary students and ardent admirers of 
Abu' 1- Ala have made much of the thought 
expressed in this quatrain. "Man," says the 
poet, "is evolved from inorganic matter." 
(I use the specific term clay for the sake of the 
rhyme only.) And so, in two lines, they say, 
this poet has expounded, in the early centuries, 
the theory of evolution, which was perfected 
by Lamark and Darwin. They forget that 
141 



Quatrains 



the fancy of the poet may sometimes be in 
harmony with the logical conclusions of the 
scientists; but this does not warrant us in 
classifying the former with the latter. 

CIV 

"Rabby," my God. 

CVII 

He refers to the leper who was healed by 
Christ, but not without an insinuation of doubt 
mingled with sarcasm. 

CX 

Here is Omar Khayyam's idea of this matter, 
taken from Heron-Allen's 157th quatrain: 

" Had I charge of the matter I would not have 
come, 

And likewise could I control my going, where 
could I go?" 

Abu'l-Ala says elsewhere that had he come 

142 



Quatrains 



here of his own accord he would be biting his 
ten fingers in repentance. This idea he often 
repeats in his poems, and I have only chosen 
what appears here as a fair specimen. 

CXIV 

The same idea is expressed by Omar. I 
quote from quatrain sixty-six of Fitzgerald's 
version : 

" And by and by my Soul came back to me 
And answered I myself am Heav'n and Hell." 

CXVIII-CXIX 

This reminds me of Hamlet's words on 
Caesar : 

" Imperial Csssar, dead and turned to clay, 
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away ; 
0, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, 
Should stop a wall t'expell the winter's flaw !" 

CXXI 

I must again have recourse to Omar 
for comparison. Following is Heron-Allen's 
twelfth quatrain : 

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Quatrains 



"Thou hast no power over the morrow, 
And anxiety about the morrow is useless to thee ; • 
Waste not thou the moment, if thy heart 
is not mad, 

For the value of the remainder of thy life is not 
manifest. " 

CXXIII 

He refers to his blindness and his skepticism. 
"Ummu-llla, " an Arabic term for black wine. 
In all his poems, published in three volumes, 
this is the only reference I find to his ever 
indulging in wine. He was abstemious in 
habit, and in numerous poems scattered in 
desultory fashion throughout the three volumes 
he denounces with the enthusiasm of a modern 
prohibitionist, "the old familiar juice." 



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